H. A. Guerber - Stories of the Wagner Opera

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[Illustration: RICHARD WAGNER.]

STORIES OF THE WAGNER OPERA.

BY

H.A. GUERBER,

Author of

"MYTHS OF GREECE AND ROME," "MYTHS OF NORTHERN LANDS,"
"CONTES ET LEGENDS," etc.

NEW YORK:
DODD, MEAD, AND COMPANY.
1905.

_Copyright 1895_,
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY.

University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.

Dedicated to my Friend,
M.A. McC.

PREFACE.

These short sketches, which can be read in a few moments' time,
are intended to give the reader as clear as possible an outline
of the great dramatist-composer's work.

The author is deeply indebted to Professor G.T. Dippold, to
Messrs. Forman, Jackman, and Corder, and to the Oliver Ditson
Company, for the poetical quotations scattered throughout
the text.

CONTENTS.
Page

Rienzi, the Last of the Tribunes 7
The Flying Dutchman 23
Tannhaeuser 38
Lohengrin 56
Tristan and Ysolde 72
The Master-Singers of Nuremberg 88
The Nibelung's Ring.--Rheingold 105
The Walkyrie 120
Siegfried 138
Dusk of the Gods 154
Parsifal 172

ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page

Richard Wagner Frontispiece
Banishment of Rienzi 7
Senta 23
Tannhaeuser and Venus 38
Ortrud kneeling before Elsa 56
Tristan's Death 72
Walther crowned by Eva 88
The Rhine Maidens 105
Brunhilde discovering Siegmund and Sieglinde 120
Siegfried and Mime 138
Siegfried and the Rhine Maidens 154
Parsifal in the Enchanted Garden 172

[Illustration: BANISHMENT OF RIENZI.]

RIENZI,

THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES.

Wagner was greatly troubled in the beginning of his career about
the choice of subjects for his operas. His first famous work,
'Rienzi,' is founded upon the same historical basis as Bulwer's
novel bearing the same name, and is a tragic opera in five
acts. The composer wrote the poem and the first two acts of
the score in 1838, during his residence at Riga, and from there
carried it with him to Boulogne. There he had an interview with
Meyerbeer, after his memorable sea journey. Wagner submitted
his libretto and the score for the first acts to that famous
composer, who is reported to have said, 'Rienzi is the best
opera-book extant,' and who gave him introductions to musical
directors and publishers in Paris. In spite of this encouraging
verdict on Meyerbeer's part, Wagner soon discovered that there
was no chance of success for 'Rienzi' in France, and, after
completing the score while dwelling at Meudon, he forwarded
it in 1841 to Dresden. Here the opera found friends in the
tenor Tichatscheck and the chorus-master Fisher, and when it
was produced in 1842 it was received with great enthusiasm. The
opera, which gave ample opportunity for great scenic display,
was so long, however, that the first representation lasted
from six o'clock to midnight. But when Wagner would fain have
made excisions, the artists themselves strenuously opposed him,
and preferred to give the opera in two successive evenings. At
the third representation Wagner himself conducted with such
success that 'he was the hero of the day.' This great triumph
was reviewed with envy by the admirers of the Italian school of
music, and some critics went so far in their partisanship as to
denounce the score as 'blatant, and at times almost vulgar.'
Notwithstanding these adverse criticisms, the opera continued
to be played with much success at Dresden, and was produced at
Berlin some years later, and at Vienna in 1871.

As Wagner's subsequent efforts have greatly surpassed this first
work, 'Rienzi' is not often played, and has seldom been produced
in America, I believe owing principally to its great length.
The scene of 'Rienzi' is laid entirely in the streets and Capitol
of Rome, in the middle of the fourteenth century, when the city
was rendered unsafe by the constant dissensions and brawls among
the noble families. Foremost among these conflicting elements
were the rival houses of Colonna and Orsini, and, as in those
days each nobleman kept an armed retinue within a fortified
enclosure in town, he soon became a despot. Fearing no one,
consulting only his own pleasure and convenience, he daily
sallied forth to plunder, kidnap, and murder at his will.
Such being the state of affairs, the streets daily flowed
with blood; the merchants no longer dared open their shops and
expose their wares lest they should be summarily carried away,
and young and pretty women scarcely dared venture out of their
houses even at noonday, lest they should be seen and carried
away by noblemen.

Terrified by the lawlessness of the barons, whom he could no
longer control, the Pope left Rome and took refuge at Avignon,
leaving the ancient city a helpless prey to the various political
factions which were engaged in continual strife. This state of
affairs was so heart-rending that Rienzi, an unusually clever man
of the people and an enthusiast, resolved to try and rouse the
old patriotic spirit in the breast of the degenerate Romans,
and to induce them to rise up against their oppressors and
shake off their hated yoke.

Naturally a scholar and a dreamer, Rienzi would probably never
have seen the necessity of such a thing, or ventured to attempt
it, had he not seen his own little brother wantonly slain
during one of the usual frays between the Orsini and Colonna
factions. The murderer, a scion of the Colonna family, considered
the matter as so trivial that he never even condescended to
excuse himself, or to offer any redress to the injured parties,
thus filling Rienzi's heart with a bitter hatred against all the
patrician race. Secretly and in silence the young enthusiast
matured his revolutionary plans, winning many adherents by his
irresistible eloquence, and patiently bided his time until a
suitable opportunity occurred to rally his partisans, openly
defy the all-powerful barons, and restore the old freedom and
prosperity to Rome.

The opera opens at nightfall, with one of the scenes so common
in those days, an attempt on the part of the Orsini to carry off
by force a beautiful girl from the presumably safe shelter of
her own home. The street is silent and deserted, the armed band
steal noiselessly along, place their scaling ladder under the
fair one's casement, and the head of the Orsini, climbing up,
seizes her and tries to carry her off in spite of her frantic
cries and entreaties.

The noise attracts the attention of Adrian, heir of the Colonna
family, and when he perceives that the would-be kidnappers wear
the arms and livery of the Orsini, his hereditary foes, he seizes
with joyful alacrity the opportunity to fight, and pounces upon
them with all his escort. A confused street skirmish ensues,
in the course of which Adrian rescues the beautiful maiden,
whom he recognises as Irene, Rienzi's only sister. Attracted by
the brawl, the people crowd around the combatants, cheering and
deriding them with discordant cries, and becoming so excited
that they refuse to disperse when the Pope's Legate appears
and timidly implores them to keep the peace.

The tumult has reached a climax when Rienzi suddenly comes
upon the scene, and authoritatively reminds his adherents that
they have sworn to respect the law and the Church, and bids
them withdraw. His words, received with enthusiastic cries
of approbation by the people, are, however, scorned by the
barons, who would fain continue the strife, but are forced
to desist. Anxious to renew hostilities as soon as possible,
and to decide the question of supremacy by the force of arms,
the irate noblemen then and there appoint a time and place
for a general encounter outside the city gates on the morrow,
when they reluctantly disperse.

The appointment has been overheard by Rienzi, who, urged by the
Legate of the Pope and by the clamours of the people to strike
a decisive blow, decides to close the gates upon the nobles on
the morrow, and to allow none to re-enter the city until they
have taken a solemn oath to keep the peace and respect the
law. In an impassioned discourse Rienzi then urges the people
to uphold him now that the decisive moment has come, and to
rally promptly around him at the sound of his trumpet, which
will peal forth on the morrow to proclaim the freedom of Rome.

When they have all gone in obedience to his command, the Tribune,
for such is the dignity which the people have conferred upon
their champion Rienzi, turns toward the girl, the innocent cause
of all the uproar, and perceives for the first time that it
is his own sister Irene. Adrian is bending anxiously over her
fainting form; but as soon as she recovers her senses she hastens
to inform her brother that he saved her from Orsini's shameful
attempt, and bespeaks his fervent thanks for her young protector.

It is then only that the Tribune realises that a Colonna,
one of his bitterest foes, and one of the most influential
among the hated barons, has overheard his instructions to his
adherents, and can defeat his most secret and long cherished
plans. Suddenly, however, he remembers that in youth he and
Adrian often played together, and, counting upon the young
nobleman's deep sense of honour, which he had frequently tested
in the past, he passionately adjures him to show himself a
true Roman and help him to save his unhappy country. Irene
fervently joins in this appeal, and such is the influence of
her beauty and distress that Adrian, who is very patriotic and
who has long wished to see the city resume its former splendour,
gladly consents to lend his aid.

This oath of allegiance received, Rienzi, whom matters of state
call elsewhere, asks Adrian to remain in his house during his
absence, to protect his sister against a renewal of the evening's
outrage. Adrian joyfully accepts this charge, and the lovers,
for they have been such from the very first glance exchanged,
remain alone together and unite in a touching duet of faith and
love, whose beautiful, peaceful strains contrast oddly with
the preceding discordant strife. In spite of his transport
at finding his affections returned, and in the very midst of
his rapturous joy at embracing his beloved, Adrian, tortured
by premonitory fears, warns Irene that her brother is far too
sanguine of success, and that his hopes will surely be deceived.
He also declares that he fears lest the proverbially fickle
people may waver in their promised allegiance, and lest Rienzi
may be the victim of the cruel barons whom he has now openly
defied. The lovers' conversation is interrupted at sunrise by
the ringing of the Capitol bell, proclaiming that the revolution
has begun, and the triumphant chorus of priests and people is
heard without, bidding all the Romans rejoice as their freedom
is now assured. Riding ahead of the procession, Rienzi slowly
passes by in the glittering armour and array of a Tribune,
and from time to time pauses to address the crowd, telling them
that the ancient city is once more free, and that he, as chief
magistrate, will severely punish any and every infringement of
the law. At the news of this welcome proclamation the enthusiasm
of the people reaches such an exalted pitch that they all loudly
swear to obey their Tribune implicitly, and loyally help him
to uphold the might and dignity of the Holy City:--

'We swear to thee that great and free
Our Rome shall be as once of yore;
To protect it from tyranny
We'll shed the last drop of our gore.
Shame and destruction now we vow
To all the enemies of Rome;
A new free people are we now,
And we'll defend our hearth and home.'

The scene of the second act is laid in the Capitol, where the
barons, who had been forced to take the oath of allegiance ere
they were allowed to re-enter the city, are present, as well
as the numerous emissaries from foreign courts. Heralds and
messengers from all parts of the land crowd eagerly around
the Tribune, anxious to do him homage, and to assure him that,
thanks to his decrees, order and peace are now restored.

Amid the general silence the heralds make their reports,
declaring that the roads are safe, all brigandage suppressed,
commerce and agriculture more flourishing than ever before,
a statement which Rienzi and the people receive with every
demonstration of great joy. To the barons, however, these are
very unwelcome tidings, and, knowing that the people could
soon be cowed were they only deprived of their powerful leader,
they gather together in one corner of the hall and plot how to
put Rienzi to death.

Adrian accidentally discovers this conspiracy, and indignantly
remonstrates with the barons, threatening even to denounce
them, since they are about to break their word and resort
to such dishonourable means. But his own father, Colonna,
is one of the instigators of the conspiracy, and he dares him
to carry out his threat, which would only result in branding
him as a parricide. Then, without waiting to hear his son's
decision, the old baron, accompanied by the other conspirators,
joins Rienzi on the balcony, whence he has just addressed the
assembled people. They have been listening to his last proposal,
that the Romans should shake off the galling yoke of the German
Empire and make their city a republic once more, and now loud
and enthusiastic acclamations rend the air.

The speech ended, Adrian, stealing softly behind the Tribune,
bids him be on the watch as treachery is lurking near. He has
scarcely ended his warning and slipped away ere the conspirators
suddenly surround the Tribune, and there, in the presence of
the assembled people, they simultaneously draw their daggers,
and strike him repeatedly. This dastardly attempt at murder
utterly fails, however, as the Tribune wears a corselet of mail
beneath the robes of state, and his guards quickly disarm and
secure the conspirators while the people loudly clamour for
their execution by the axe, a burly blacksmith, Cecco, acting
as their principal spokesman.

Rienzi, who is principally incensed by their attack upon Roman
liberties, and by their utter lack of faith, is about to yield to
their demand, when Irene and Adrian suddenly fall at his feet,
imploring the pardon of the condemned, and entreating him to
show mercy rather than justice. Once more Rienzi addresses the
people, but it requires all his persuasive eloquence to induce
them, at last, to forgive the barons' attempt. Then the culprits
are summoned into the Tribune's august presence, where, instead
of being executed as they fully expect, they are pardoned and
set free, after they have once more solemnly pledged themselves
to respect the new government and its chosen representatives.
This promise is wrung from them by the force of circumstances;
they have no intention of keeping it, and they are no sooner
released than they utter dark threats of revenge, which fill
the people's hearts with ominous fear, and make them regret
the clemency they have just shown.

The next act is played on one of the public squares of Rome,
where the people are tumultuously assembled to discuss the secret
flight of the barons. They have fled from the city during the
night, and, in spite of their recently renewed oaths, are even
now preparing to re-enter the city with fire and sword, and to
resume their former supremacy. In frantic terror, the people
call upon Rienzi to deliver them, declaring that, had he only
been firm and executed the nobles, Rome would now have no need
to fear their wrath. Adrian, coming upon the spot as they march
off toward the Capitol, anxiously deliberates what course he
shall pursue, and bitterly reviles fate, which forces him either
to bear arms against his own father and kin, or to turn traitor
and slay the Tribune, the brother of his fair beloved. While he
thus soliloquises in his despair, Rienzi appears on horseback,
escorted by the Roman troops, all loudly chanting a battle song,
of which the constant refrain is the Tribune's rallying cry,
'Santo Spirito Cavaliere!' They are on their way to the city
gates, where the assembled forces of the barons await them, and
Adrian, in a last frantic attempt to prevent bloodshed, throws
himself in front of Rienzi's horse, imploring the Tribune to
allow him to try once more to conciliate the rebel nobles. But
Rienzi utterly refuses to yield again to his entreaties, and
marches calmly on, accompanied by the people chanting the last
verse of their solemn war-song.

The fourth act is played in front of the Lateran church. The
battle has taken place. The barons have been repulsed at the
cost of great slaughter. But notwithstanding their losses
and the death of their leader, the elder Colonna, the nobles
have not relinquished all hope of success. What they failed to
secure by the force of arms, they now hope to win by intrigue,
for they have artfully won not only the Pope, but the Emperor
also, to uphold their cause and side with them. The people, who
have just learned that the Pope and Emperor have recalled their
legates and ambassadors, are awed and frightened. Baroncelli and
Cecco, two demagogues, seize this occasion to poison their fickle
minds, and blame Rienzi openly for all that has occurred. Their
specious reasoning that the Tribune must be very wicked indeed,
since the spiritual and temporal authorities alike disapprove
of him, is strengthened by the sudden appearance of Adrian,
who, wild with grief at his father's death, publicly declares
he has vowed to slay the Tribune. The people--who, lacking the
strength to uphold their convictions, now hate their leader
as vehemently as they once loved and admired him--are about
to join Adrian in his passionate cry of 'Down with Rienzi!'
when the cardinal and his train suddenly appear, and march into
the church, where a grand 'Te Deum' is to be sung to celebrate
the victory over the barons.

While the Romans are wavering, and wondering whether they have
not made a mistake, and whether the Pope really disapproves
of their chief magistrate, Rienzi marches toward the church,
accompanied by Irene and his body guard. Adrian, at the sight
of his pale beloved, has no longer the courage to execute his
purpose and slay her only brother. Just as they are about to
enter the church, where they expect to hear the joyful strains
of thanksgiving, the cardinal appears at the church door,
barring their entrance, and solemnly pronounces the Church's
anathema upon the horror-struck Rienzi.

The people all start back and withdraw from him as from one
accursed, while Adrian, seizing Irene's hand, seeks to lead
her away from her brother. But the brave girl resists her
lover's offers and entreaties, and, clinging closely to the
unhappy Tribune, she declares she will never forsake him,
while he vows he will never relinquish his hope that Rome may
eventually recover her wonted freedom, and again shake off the
tyrant's yoke.

The fifth and last act is begun in the Capitol, where Rienzi,
the enthusiast, is wrapped in prayer, and forgetting himself
entirely, fervently implores Divine protection for his misguided
people and unhappy city. He has scarcely ended this beautiful
prayer when Irene joins him, and, when he once more beseeches
her to leave him, she declares she will never forsake him,
even though by clinging to him she must renounce her love,--a
passion which he has never known. At this declaration, Rienzi in
a passionate outburst tells how deeply he has loved and still
loves his mistress, Rome, fallen and degraded though she may
be. He loves her, although she has broken faith with him, has
turned to listen to the blandishments of another, and basely
deserted him at the time of his utmost need.

Irene, touched by his grief, bids him not give way to
despair, but adjures him to make a last attempt to regain
his old ascendency over the minds of the fickle people. As
he leaves her to follow her advice, Adrian enters the hall,
wildly imploring her to escape while there is yet time, for
the infuriated Romans are coming, not only to slay Rienzi,
but to burn down the Capitol which has sheltered him.

As she utterly refuses to listen to his entreaties, he vainly
seeks to drag her away. It is only when the lurid light of
the devouring flames illumines the hall, and when she sinks
unconscious to the floor, that he can bear her away from a
place fraught with so much danger for them all. Rienzi, in the
mean while, has stepped out on the balcony, whence he has made
repeated but futile attempts to address the mob. Baroncelli and
Cecco, fearing lest he should yet succeed in turning the tide by
his marvellous eloquence, drown his voice by discordant cries,
fling stones which fall all around his motionless figure like
hail, and clamour for more fuel to burn down the Capitol, which
they have sworn shall be his funeral pyre. Calmly now Rienzi
contemplates their fury and his unavoidable death, and solemnly
predicts that they will regret their precipitancy, as the Capitol
falls into ruins over the noble head of the Last of the Tribunes.

[Illustration: SENTA.]

THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.

After leaving Riga, where he had accepted the position of
Music Director, which he filled acceptably for some time,
Wagner went to Pillau, where he embarked on a sailing vessel
bound for London. He was accompanied by his wife and by a huge
Newfoundland dog, and during this journey learned to know
the sea, and became familiar with the sound of the sailors'
songs, the creaking of the rigging, the whistling of the wind,
and the roar and crash of the waves. This journey made a deep
impression upon his imagination. He had read Heine's version of
the legend of the Flying Dutchman, and questioned the sailors,
who told him many similar yarns. He himself subsequently said:
'I shall never forget that voyage; it lasted three weeks and a
half, and was rich in disasters. Three times we suffered from
the effects of heavy storms. The passage through the Narrows
made a wondrous impression on my fancy. The legend of the Flying
Dutchman was confirmed by the sailors, and the circumstances
gave it a distinct and characteristic colour in my mind.'

One year later, when in Paris, Wagner submitted detailed sketches
for this work to the Director of the Opera, to whom Meyerbeer
had introduced him. The sketches were accepted, and shortly
after the Director expressed a wish to purchase them. Wagner
utterly refused at first to give up his claim to the plot,
which he had secured from Heine; but, finding that he could
not obtain possession of the sketches, which had already been
given to Foucher for versification, he accepted the miserable
sum of L20, which was all that was offered in compensation.
The stolen opera was produced in Paris under the title of 'Le
Vaisseau Fantome,' in 1842, but it was never very successful,
and has been entirely eclipsed by Wagner's version. Wagner
had not, however, relinquished the idea of writing an opera
upon this theme, and he finished the poem, which Spohr has
designated as 'a little masterpiece,' as quickly as possible.
The score was written at Meudon, near Paris, and completed,
with the exception of the overture, in the short space of seven
weeks. When offered in Munich and Leipsic the critics pronounced
it 'unfit for Germany,' but, upon Meyerbeer's recommendation,
it was accepted at Berlin, although no preparations were made
for its immediate representation.

'The Flying Dutchman' was first brought out at Dresden in 1843,
four years after the idea of this work had first suggested
itself to the illustrious composer, who conducted the orchestra
in person, while Madame Schroeder-Devrient sang the part of
Senta. The audience did not receive it very enthusiastically,
and, while some of the hearers were deeply moved, the majority
were simply astonished. No one at first seemed to appreciate
the opera at its full value except Spohr, who in connection
with it wrote: 'Der Fliegende Hollaender interests me in the
highest degree. The opera is imaginative, of noble invention,
well written for the voices, immensely difficult, rather overdone
as regards instrumentation, but full of novel effects; at the
theatre it is sure to prove clear and intelligible.... I have
come to the conclusion that among composers for the stage,
_pro tem._, Wagner is the most gifted.'

The legend upon which the whole opera is based is that a Dutch
captain once tried to double the Cape of Good Hope in the teeth
of a gale, swearing he would accomplish his purpose even if he
had to plough the main forever. This rash oath was overheard
by Satan, who condemned him to sail until the Judgment Day,
unless he could find a woman who would love him faithfully
until death. Once in every seven years only did the Devil allow
the Dutchman to land, in search of the maiden who might effect
his release.

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